Bait And Switch
by cinnabari
Summary: A pack of Glasswalkers, and old vampire, and some politics


Bait and Switch

They met in the café, appropriately dark and smoky, just an hour before sunset. He arrived first, found a table in the back, in a corner, faced the door -- too much like Hollywood convention, really, and the irony was not lost on him -- and spent his wait carefully scoping the room for exits. A younger man might have found the experience thrilling, but Nikos merely found it tedious. Cloak and dagger games were for the young.

His contact, of course, _was_ young, and modern, and all the things Nikos found so terribly taxing about the twenty first century. She stalked into the place, all black leather and sunglasses, all style, no subtlety_. So this is the modern werewolf._ Well, the species never had been particularly understated. He waited, and watched her scan the room carefully until her eyes found him. She redirected herself, a shift of focus and body, a predator's action; and he wondered again how wise it had been to arrange to the meeting. The Garou could be unpredictable, and while he was not helpless, he was also no match for one of them. 

And he was willing to bet she'd left her pack outside, too.

She stopped beside the table, loomed over him. "Nikos?" Her accent was indeterminate and European -- educated, then. And from the tone, impatient. 

He rose slowly, refusing to be hurried, and extended a hand. "I am. You must be Devon." He spoke with deliberate slowness, forced her to focus on him. Always prudent, with the moonbeasts, to speak softly.

She did not hesitate to take his hand, which he had not expected. But the strength of her hand on his was no surprise. "I am." Her eyes narrowed, bored into his with the disturbing directness he'd always associated with freeborn aristocrats. "I'm told I bear some relation to an old acquaintance of yours." 

He'd done his research, too, and nodded mildly at her. "Indeed. I remember Julius Claudius with some fondness."

The corner of her mouth twitched -- disgust or amusement, he could not tell. Devon folded herself into a chair, timing herself to sit precisely as he did. He let himself smile slightly; so conscious of rank, these Garou.

She folder her hands on the table, laced her fingers together, leaned forward. "We understand you...your employer...wanted to talk to us for some reason. What is it?" 

"We appreciate your agreement to this meeting. We understand there is some penalty for consorting with us these days." 

She sighed, and this time the corners of her mouth were not remotely humorous. "Look, I can tell you're human enough. I don't really want to think about the records that tell me you're older than the major faith of the Western world. If I do, I start thinking there's something fundamentally unnatural about you, and it upsets me. On the other hand, we have documents dating from the end of Rome telling us about some bloody pact our ancestors made with your...lady. And since she's always kept her side of things, and never caused us trouble, and we are an _honorable_ lot" -- that word she almost spat -- "we agreed to this meeting. We assume she wants something; what is it?"

He sat back in his chair, laid both hands palm down on the table. "She wishes two things: to warn you, and to see you, Devon Renaud."

Two spots of color appeared on her cheekbones, bright as her eyes. "I'm not sure we can arrange that. Warn us about what?"

So, she could control that moonbeast temper. Good. Nikos relaxed a fraction, and color flooded back into his fingertips where they pressed against the wood. "It is a delicate matter. Will you come?"

"What, now?" For a fraction, her eyes went wide and grey and shocked. Then they narrowed again, and she reached -- slowly -- into a pocket and retrieved a slim little phone. "Excuse me a moment." She pressed one button, then waited, then spoke in the guttural language of moonbeasts. Nikos waited patiently, studying the wall behind her, the cheap watercolor on it, the way light played off the dirty glass. 

The phone disappeared in a whisper of plastic and leather. "All right. Let's go." 

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Alone, Miss Renaud." 

Her lips thinned. "That was assumed." She was unhappy with the arrangement, that was clear. But when she rose, her back was straight and there was nothing of fear about her. "So let's have this meeting, shall we?"

--------------------

She did not say anything at all during their walk, just stalked behind him, half a step, like a bodyguard. Hah. Nikos had no doubt she'd snap his neck if he so much as moved wrong. He also did not doubt her pack was somewhere very close by, either in that damned moonbeast spirit world, or perhaps mundanely on buildings and in alleys. His senses were better than most, but he did not bet on his ability to hear them coming. Ah, this was dangerous, so dangerous. Isa always knew what she was doing, but still. . . this was madness. It had been far, far too long since the Glasswalkers had been _friends_ for this meeting to be anything but hazard.

He made certain to slow down well in advance of the door, and turn with exaggerated slowness to face her. "This way." He gestured at the door, that she should open it and enter. 

Her eyes snapped from door to his face. The corner of her mouth twitched again. "What, you aren't coming?"

Nikos gave her his most courteous smile. "I will follow you, Miss Renaud. Simply go through the door and into the parlor." He let the smile harden into his eyes. _I have trusted my back to you. Now you do the same._

Her mouth widened, just a hint of teeth, and she nodded slowly. In that moment, as she stepped past him and pushed open the door, he could see Lucia in her - that damned Garou courage that made Isa admire them so, and compelled her to keep this insane pact with them over the millennia. Devon Renaud shot a glance over her shoulder as the door began to swing open, met his eyes for one blazing second. He read, very clearly, the promise in them: _If I die here, you won't live out the night._

__

Likewise, he thought sourly, and followed her.

The parlor was a short hallway past the door - pale rugs on warm wood, candles everywhere, low couches in an ancient Mediterranean style, bright splashes of color painted on the walls, imitation of frescos and mosaics. Isa waited on the far side, reclining as if she'd no concerns in the world. She smiled when she saw them both; and rose to her feet to greet them. 

Devon Renaud stopped just inside the threshold with such abruptness that Nikos almost bumped her. Now he could see fear in the line of her back, the tension in arms and hands. He slipped past her, kept his eyes on her suddenly rigid face as he edged partway to Isa. It was futile, and stupid, but he kept himself between them. 

Isa, no fool, read her guest's mood, and stopped halfway across the room. "Miss Renaud," she said her soft, accented English. But Nikos knew her, could see her evaluating this young woman who looked so much like her long dead friend. "I am Decima Isata."

"I know who you are." Devon's hands locked behind her back, fingers twisting at each other. She inclined her head ever so slightly, unwilling to take her eyes from Isa's face. And she added, as if compelled, "-- Domina." 

Surprise flickered across the Elder's face. "Isa, please." She swept her hand back, indicating the couches. "Will you sit with me, or is that too much to ask of you?" No challenge in her words, her eyes. . . and no fear. Nikos wished he felt that serene. His hands were sweating, pressed against his trousers.

A sheen of sweat on the Garou's marble face, a rapid pulse in her throat -- but her voice came out steady. "I will sit with you."

"Thank you." Isa retraced her path to her couch, managing to neither turn her back nor take her eyes from her guest, and all without seeming awkward or rude. Nikos consoled himself by leaning against the cool wall and letting his knees shake surreptitiously. Bloody sure Isa could hear the moonbeast's heart pounding from here, and bloody sure she knew that fear and distrust were a volatile mix. 

Devon sat gingerly on the edge of a couch, kept her back rigid. "What is this about?"

Isa curled one leg, rearranged her skirts in an ancient, unhurried habit. Her lips twitched with real amusement - she hated niceties and prevarication as well, to Nikos' eternal chagrin. "I have information you might find useful, Miss Renaud."

"Devon." The young moonbeast almost growled the word, so low and quietly did she speak. Well, she had manners, Nikos had to grant her that. 

"Devon." Isa inclined her head graciously. "We understand you and your pack are here to deal with a certain _security_ issue." 

Devon did not waste her breath with 'why and how did you know that.' Nikos watched a look of irritated resignation chase across her face instead. "Yes. We have that in hand."

"Ah. Well, you have it wrong."

"What?" Devon's voice was sharp. "Unlikely. Our intelligence tells us -"

"Your intelligence is compromised." Isa made a sharp gesture with one hand, and Devon went tense and still on the couch. "Listen to me, Devon Renaud. You are being _played._ Your intelligence gathering team got exactly what it was intended to learn."

"I don't even want to know how you learned this -" 

"You do. That is point of this meeting. It is one of my kind perpetuating this deception." She waved away the inevitable question. "I am telling you because it is in my interest, and yours, that you do not move too hastily."

Devon's eyes were bright in her white face. "Vampire politics, is it?" 

Isa laughed, surprised and amused. "You are _not_ the diplomat, I see. Neither was I, at your age. - Yes, politics, but I am not exaggerating the danger. If you hit the Pentex facility as you plan, you will unbalance some delicate things in our - and your - organization here. I am talking about war between our people, something I think neither your tribe, nor the Camarilla, wants. And," she added mildly, "you and your pack will probably be killed."

Devon blinked in clear shock. "What is it exactly that you think we are doing here? Pentex has taken Garou as research subjects. Generally we do not allow that to continue." She shook her head. "I fail to see how that constitutes a _war_ between Kindred and Garou."

Isa nodded mildly. "Matthew Brody. Do you know the name?" 

Devon's eyes narrowed. "No. Should I?"

"He's an anarch. A Brujah, if that means something, but not supported or sanctioned by his clan." Isa's eyes were flat.

Nikos watched Devon evaluate that statement. If she were half as well trained as they suspected, she knew where _Isa_ stood in among the Brujah, and what 'not sanctioned' really meant. "I see," she said finally. "Go on."

"He has been in the habit for many years of putting together mercenary units of ghouls and hiring himself out to the highest bidder. Lately, he has taken to a new sort of ghoul, and to a new employer." 

Not a stupid woman, Devon Renaud. She stared at Isa for a moment - not an easy thing - then said coldly, "Are you saying he is involving himself with Pentex, with Garou, or both. . . ?" 

"Yes. Both." Isa sighed, and leaned forward from her couch. "He is taking Garou as his ghouls, and Pentex's paycheck. And we think he wants to start a war. _You_ are being set up, very nicely. The Garou who are missing are Glasswalkers, yes?"

Grimly: "Yes."

"And it is people within Pentex who have told you that the Garou are being held there, yes?"

"Yes." Less and less happy, the young moonbeast. More and more angry, too, if Nikos was any judge of such things.

"They are not lying about that, nor are they misinformed. Pentex _does_ house the missing Garou. It also houses Brody. But what they do _not_ know is that the Garou are there. . . willingly." She lifted a hand to forestall interruption or comment. "Brody is working for Pentex, assembling this fine team of professionals. He will be armed by Pentex. And he will use Pentex, and what they know, and what his new ghouls know. This kind of thing can set off a war between our people, Devon Renaud. It must not be allowed to happen" - uttered in the gentle light of candles, blue eyes deadly serious, face anything but gentle. "I have seen such wars, and no one wins them." 

She trailed off, and let Devon consider the implications of what she'd said. Color drained away until the Glasswalker looked almost undead herself. "Wh-" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed and tried again. "Why do you tell me this?" 

Isa smiled, an unpleasant thing. "We cannot reach Brody where he is. We. The vampires. He has ghouls with him who, by their number, are more than a match for most of our people. In order to subdue them, we would need to be. . . indiscreet. If you can handle your people, we can handle Brody."

Devon nodded gravely. The color has still not returned to her face. "Let me talk to my pack leader." 

-----------

"Do you actually _believe_ the vampire?" Tonio interrupted his furious pacing, came to a sudden stop in front of Laurel. He glared down at the top of her head in high indignation.

Devon understood the source of his frustration: he was mad she'd met the vampire by herself, madder that he'd been left behind, maddest of all that Laurel had allowed it to happen. That rage had no outlet. Max would have taken his tone amiss, and stood up and yelled in Tonio's face until Tonio backed down. That was what Tonio _needed_. 

Laurel, of course, was pretending not to notice him. "We can certainly check out her story," she said mildly, looking only at Devon.

"She wants us to clean up _her_ mess --" 

Devon interrupted him. "Tonio. I think she's telling the truth." He cast a furious look at her, but he resumed his restless pacing. . . just in time. Devon could see the tightness of Laurel's jaw. _Why did Madeleine send us this woman to be alpha?_ Not a packmate's place to question...but after Max, Laurel seemed a poor fit and a worse replacement. Devon tried not to let that show. Gaia help them all if Laurel pulled rank on Tonio.

She had the temperament of a saint, clearly. The anger vanished behind a professional mask. She peered at Devon with clinical interest. "Why do you think that?"

Quick nervous glance at the new alpha and her cold blue eyes, then back to Tonio's furious brown ones. It wasn't Laurel she had to convince, so she spoke to him instead, and hoped the pack leader would understand. "Decima Isata has been allied with our Tribe - with my family - since Republican Rome. Not once, in all those years, has she acted against us. And I believe she honestly has no interest in a war between Garou and Leech."

Tonio's lips tightened, but before he could speak, Bill interjected. Another calm one, there, trying to forestall trouble. "It's easy enough to check. I can get some of my friends to run a search on Brody, and on the missing Garou, and see if there's any kinda connections. It won't take that long." 'That long' probably meant another week of waiting, but he didn't say that. They all knew that. . . and knew that Max would have sent them in already, and hell with extra checking. Then again, Max would never have agreed to Devon's meeting with Isa, either. 

"Do it. Devon," she said mildly, "do you think Isa's allegations about Brody's ghouls are correct?"

This was the sticking point, the thing that had sparked Tonio's temper in the first place. "I do," she said slowly. "That would explain a great many things about the disappearances." She ticked the points off on her fingers. "The missing Garou were always fringe members of their packs, prone to working alone a lot. They were out often at night. It wasn't unusual for them to disappear for days at a time. It's not hard for a determined vampire to bond someone...follow them, figure out where their habits, slip them a little blood...before you know it" - snap of fingers, like a shot - "they're bonded and gone, and no one thinks anything of it. It makes more sense than our original intell, which suggested that Pentex just picked them off." Uncomfortable silence.

"And then he's got an elite team of shapeshifters at his command. Smart guy." That from Joachim, sprawled in a chair in the corner. "Real fuckin' ballsy." 

"Never heard of it before," Bill observed mildly. "Must be why the old vamp called us. This sorta thing could really cause a flare-up in relations." Had a talent for understatement, did Bill.

Joachim laughed humorlessly. "Hell, this Brody hits a couple places with a Garou team, and _everyone_ is gonna think it's Impergium again. Except the Garou, and _we_ will spend all our time fighting with each other over who's responsible." 

Silence again, five pairs of eyes making the rounds of each other. 

Flatly, then, from Laurel: "Can we kill him?"

That was a Max question. Devon's mouth opened, shut again. Tonio watched her intently, Joachim too. Even Bill. She tried again. "If he's alone, yes. Since he's got a bunch of ghouls, Garou or otherwise, it'll be tougher. If Isa comes through, though, we won't have to." Her mouth felt like cotton. 

"We can't trust that she will." Laurel glanced sideways at Tonio. 

"We could be talking about killing our own, here." Bill again, deceptively mild. "And maybe Garou that got tricked into the blood bond."

From Tonio, softly: "If it were me, I'm not sure I'd want to live, you know? Or at least, I'd damn sure understand if another 'Walker had to take me out."

From Joachim, nothing: he wore that peculiarly blank expression that meant 'don't even ask me.' Laurel was too wise to prod him. "Opinions, Devon?"

Devon discovered that she could not look at Joachim, found a spot on the wall instead. "Silver bullets in our guns, if we can get them. If they survive, we can worry about trying to rehab them. If they're bound, they'll do what Brody says, and what Brody wants, and they won't hesitate to kill us." She remembered what Black Spirals had done to Max. Silver might have helped. 

Laurel nodded, ice cold and thoughtful. "All right. I'll see what I can get. Bill, check your sources. I'll work on getting the hardware. You three... Keep to your normal routines, whatever it is you do. If we're being watched, and I bet we are, we don't want to break pattern and tip them off." 

Three sets of nods; Devon was relieved to finally get _out_ of there, even if the light in Tonio's eye meant she was about to get grilled all over again about Isa. Then Laurel's voice chased and caught them, just at the door: "And stay together." The relief became a knot again, somewhere in her chest.

"Does she think we're stupid enough to get taken like those other guys?" Tonio muttered, once the door and a fair bit of hall was between them. "Like we're gonna just let ourselves get blood bound, or something." 

Joachim glanced over at Devon from the edges of his eyes: _volatile today, isn't he?_ - and said cheerfully, "I think she's just being cautious. That seems to be her style." 

Snort, sneer. "_You_ probably like that, anyway. The rest of us want to do our jobs." Because, of course, Joachim had argued all the time with Max, about taking time and minimizing risks...because Joachim had to pick up damaged pieces of his packmates, and he hated it. 

There came a sudden drop in temperature. "Fuck you, Tonio." 

They'd almost made it to the stairs, too. Devon sighed, and hoped they wouldn't end up disturbing other guests. "Not fair, Tonio."

His temper peaked; his voice climbed a few decibels to keep it company. "Yeah, and who the hell cares about fair? _You_ hate all the goddamned waiting as bad as I do! That woman overplans!"

Joachim snapped back, interrupting: "And I fucking hate moppin' up your blood! That sound fair to you?" 

Surreal: Tonio and Joachim never fought. Surreal again: Devon was the farthest thing from peacemaker ever birthed by Garou. "What's not fair," she said in a terribly calm tone, "is that some goddamned _vampire_ is bonding our people and _using_ them, _and_ that he's done it by being sneaky enough to fool them, _and_ he or someone like him could do the same fucking thing to one of us. _That_ is not fair. " She paused, and when no one leapt into the lull: "That scares the shit out of me." She had their full attention now, because Devon never, ever admitted to being afraid of anything. And what was worse...she could see in their eyes they thought much the same thing. 

First real mission without Max, and it was going all pear-shaped, and no one knew yet if Laurel was any good in the field. Silence, as Tonio and Joachim stared at her, trying to figure out if she'd cracked. Her voice hadn't even slipped, she thought. _Why are they looking at me like I'm about to cry?_

Then Tonio said, in a more restrained tone, "I hate that she sent you alone to meet that vampire. You could have been killed. Or worse." It was something like an apology to both her and Joachim.

"I was worried about me, too," she admitted. "I have never smelled that much Wyrm before in one small space, and I hope never to again."

"What's she like?" Joachim held the stairwell doors for them. 

"Taller than I thought she'd be, for a Roman. Blond, blue eyes, nothing especially different about her. Very polite." She laughed, an oddly startled sound. "Hell, she was _nice_. I expected something more, I don't know, imperious, maybe? More like Madeleine." A reward: Joachim laughed. 

"You sure she didn't bite you?" Tonio peered at her neck. "She must've done some mojo on you. Vampires are _never_ nice."

"Idiot." She swatted at him. He dodged, mock-fled from her down the stairs. 

That meant a race, of sorts - Joachim launched after him, taking two steps at a time. "You really trust her to back us?" he said when he hit bottom, half a step behind Tonio.

Devon, who had not raced, waited to answer till she caught up. "Yeah," she said finally, trying to look at them both at once. "It's not logical. It's probably stupid. But I don't think she's jacking us around." 

"Heh." From Tonio, that might mean 'cool' or 'I think you're smokin' wolfsbane.' Maybe both, this time. "So we're talking four Glasswalkers who kinda do what we do, and one old bastard of a vampire with no morals. Sounds like a typical day at the office." He grinned when that pulled a smile out of her.

"So. . . " Joachim said thoughtfully. "If we had to take us out, how would we do it?" 

That bore some thinking. They found a table, placed and order, and sat staring at each other in busy silence. Tonio quietly turned his coffee into a dessert. He stirred like one of Macbeth's weird sisters, as if the future lay somewhere under the whorls of milk. 

Finally, from Devon: "If we assume they are as good as we are...as armed, as trained, as - " her hand spun as her mind searched for the word - "as _simpatico_, then our only hope is surprise. If we meet them when and where they expect it, we'll take losses." Not comforting, to think of hitting people like themselves. 

"Nope." Joachim stared into his cup as if it, too, were an oracle. "No losses." 

"If they have silver, we're fucked." Tonio sipped his concoction, mindful of steam. 

"Unless we're in homid the whole time." Devon tapped her spoon against her mug thoughtfully. "Then a klaive is just a pretty knife. That leaves us weaker, smaller, and easier to kill with mundane claws and teeth if _they_ change." 

Joachim raked his eyes over her. "One good swipe would tear you in two." 

"One swipe will get any of us." Tonio shook his head sharply. "If _we_ have silver, we fuck _them_ up, too. Laurel's gotta get some bullets. - That vampire...Devon, do you know what he can do?" 

She made a face. "That's the only problem with us staying homid. He's Brujah. That means he's stronger and faster than a normal human, and he has some mental tricks. And silver won't do _jack_ to him. But if we let the ghouls carve us up, we won't have enough left to take him. If Isa and her people are there, we'll probably live. If not, we're going to get hurt."

"Y'know, you can be a total killjoy." Tonio flicked a sugar packet at her. 

She batted it away with her spoon. "I really think we risk too much if we go to _them._ We want them coming to us, or we want to catch them someplace they aren't expecting to find us." 

"Like?" 

"Laurel said to stick with our patterns. What if we call that Isa back, and tell her to find a way to tip Brody off on where we're going to be?"

"And let them 'find' us." Joachim finished thoughtfully. "Hmm."

Tonio looked at them both like they'd cracked. "Where, though? This hotel? On the street? In a _club_?" 

Shrug, Joachim's patented gesture; Devon borrowed it to use on her partner. "Wherever. Let them come. They won't expect us to be ready for them." 

"We can't set up an ambush if we don't know when they're coming." Tonio frowned. "That means they'll be armed, and we won't be, or not as good as we might otherwise."

Devon held up a hand. "If it's public, they have other things to worry about. They can't arm or armor much either, without being noticed. They'll have to stay homid or Glabro." _We hope._ "Here: we let slip where we are, make sure any damned fool could follow us. We parade around, being very obvious as to our whereabouts. They take the bait, they hit us, we surprise them by being ready." 

"Unpredictable. And public place could be messy," Joachim told his coffee mug. "Can't bet 'Walker ghouls are gonna care about the Litany, either. How we gonna deal with that?"

"Go Umbral fast as we can, make them chase us." She paused to sip at her own coffee. It, at least, was not an oracle: reflected her own face back out at her, distorted in the ripples. "Separate them from the vampire. Carve them up on that side."

Tap-tap, Tonio's fingers on the table. "So we play stupid, and hope they bite. So to speak."

Devon nodded at him over the rim of her cup. "It's risky."

"It sure as hell beats trying to bust into Pentex if they're waiting for us." Joachim said pointedly. "But you're talking about setting us out as bait." 

Devon shrugged. "So? Bait is just another word for target, and Tonio and I are used to that. You should be by now, too. And we'll have Laurel and Bill in reserve. In case not all of the ghouls follow us, or in case we need backup wherever it is they hit us." 

"_That_ reassures me," Tonio muttered. Then, louder, "I hate to ruin this happy moment, but - how are we gonna float this past Ms. Plan-it-to-death?" 

"Ahh," Joachim said wisely. "You two leave that to _me._"

-----

The nightclub looked like a hundred others they'd visited, she and Joachim and Tonio: huge old warehouse lit with strobes, impossibly loud industrial music, human bodies flickering and heaving between pulses of light. Rough place, too, by reputation. The bouncers had been big as Garou. Devon manned a barstool, minding neglected drinks, and divided her attention between Tonio, weaving through the dance floor (trailing several women) and Joachim at his billiard game, probably winning and being arrogant about it (_Honest_, he called it. _If they suck, I tell 'em so._). 

People came and went from the bar in a steady stream, and she ignored them, thinking instead about strike teams, and how to lure a trained unit into an ambush. Ignored everyone, that is, until one hand clapped itself with unwanted intimacy around her wrist. 

__

Either it's beginning, or someone is aggressive about pick-ups. Devon let herself smile and turned her attention to the owner of the unwanted hand: a biggish fellow, looming entirely too close to her shoulder. Her smile hardened as she met his eyes. "I don't think we've met." Experimental flex: his grip was unusually strong. Clearly he meant to keep her hand where it was. 

His smile was utterly arctic, not at all like a man trying to score. That was her first warning. "My name is Michael. You'll want to come with me." He had to lean in close to be heard over the pounding of Rammstein.

"I think not." The stench off him nearly gagged her: Wyrm-rot over living flesh. _Ghoul_. 

He nodded, smiling still, and leaned against the bar beside her; the hand on her wrist became an arm pinning hers to the smooth wood. Their shoulders touched in a parody of intimacy. "I thought you might feel that way. That's why I have to tell you - " pause, to shake his head at the bartender, warning him away - "we've already gotten to your friend." His chin jerked past her. "See there?" She followed his gaze, saw Tonio, saw the small pretty brunette dancing near him, grinning at him with that same idiot worship so many women did. "That's Gillian," he murmured in her ear. "She has a klaive." 

Something flopped in the pit of her stomach. _Silver. _"He can care for himself." Devon smiled sweetly at Michael, kept smiling as something hard and round poked into her ribs. The flopping thing in her grew cold and still. "Don't tell me you intend to shoot me in here?"

His answering grin told her that yes, he did. "If you don't get your little ass up and come with me, Gillian is going to gut your friend over there. The big guy is gonna be way too busy to watch either of you." 

She didn't like the sound of _that_. But Michael hadn't mentioned Laurel or Bill. That had to be a good sign. Be calm, try reason. "If you shoot me, I can't go with you, and obviously you want something from me. And if you gut him, I sure as hell won't come." 

He nodded, parody of all things rational. "Bullets won't kill _you._ I'll drag you out bleeding if I have to. Silver _will_ kill him, and I will _still_ drag you out bleeding. Save your friend." He tugged her arm none too gently, prodded her with the barrel. "C'mon. - _Slowly._"

Divide and conquer had not been part of the plan. _They think I am the weakest of us._ She put the smile away. "You've thought this out. Right then." Let him think it was fear, not the beginnings of a battle rush, that made her voice tight. Her hands turned up, palms empty. "I'm coming. Just leave Tonio alone, all right?" Did he believe her? Hard to say. She let her eyes drop, her shoulders slump: classic signs of defeated Garou. 

Under Michael's overzealous supervision - he had to be leaving bruises - Devon levered herself carefully off the stool. She permitted him to tug her elbow, let him turn her. Took a step, feigning numb, blind fear - then let her knee buckle. She flailed with her free hand, as if reaching for purchase; found Tonio's glass on the bar instead, and pitched it and its contents across her body into Michael's face. He jerked back reflexively, threw up an arm; the gun's barrel gleamed dully in the dim light as it pointed uselessly at the ceiling. She delivered a chop to the offending wrist, and another reflex made his hand spasm. Devon twisted free and dodged sideways into the crowd just as Michael brought his weapon hand down again. The gun's shot was lost in the music; the burn and spreading warmth across her ribs were not.

She staggered hard, bouncing off human bodies, slapped her hand over the wound. The blood poured entirely too fast for her liking - hit an organ, almost certainly. She felt it running down her side, her hips, her belly, and willed herself into Glabro. Her tank top constricted against the wound; that, and the natural healing abilities of her kind, should keep things from becoming lethal. Or keep her from passing out, which might amount to the same thing.

She kept her head low, weaving among oblivious humans, trying to orient on Tonio again. _There_. The woman Gillian had rocked away from him, pushed by a swell in the crowds. When she righted herself, her head snapped sharply over toward Devon - no, _over_ her, toward the bar. Dark hair swung back with the movement, baring her cheek, chin, jaw...ear. Something in her _ear_. Devon swore under her breath. Gillian's chin jerked abruptly, and she began a careful progress through the crowds, back toward Tonio. Devon imagined she saw a gleam of silver in her hand. She wrapped her arm across her ribs, makeshift shield, and hoped Michael did not dare to fire through the crowds. 

Luck was with her, or something like it: nothing struck her exposed back. She could see Tonio ahead of her, turning round now to look at something back toward the billiard tables. She watched her partner's face change, in the flashes of the strobe, from curiosity to alarm. 

That meant he could not see Gillian coming up fast on his back, sliding through the crowds like a snake. Devon's arm and hand were hot, sticky, wet, maybe still bleeding. No matter. She needed to be smaller again, and quicker. She shed the larger form, summoned up her rage, frustration, fear - and _moved_ as only Garou can, faster than humans can realize they've been pushed aside. 

She was not fast enough. Devon saw the other woman's hand come up, swift efficient movement, shooting straight for her partner's exposed back. She pitched her voice to carry, and hoped it would. "_Tonio!_" 

More luck: he heard. His head came round, and he saw Gillian: his arm snapped up sharply in front of his chest. Devon saw bright blood on his sleeve. Someone screamed.

And suddenly there was a space around them, as people pushed clear of a fight, and ringed in solidly to watch. Tonio had to know it was silver in Gillian's hand by now, and what that meant. The stillness in his normally mobile face told Devon that much. Gillian circled him carefully, not rushing to attack: not inexperienced, and not likely to underestimate him. The klaive flipped in her hand, the blade pressing back against her arm. He settled his weight on the balls of his feet, and presented the injured side to her, and waited.

Devon's was not a moon-sign known for its patience; she threw people aside with no regard for the frailty of human flesh. People shouted in her wake, angry and alarmed by her violence. 

Gillian was too smart to turn round to see the cause of the commotion; she slid sideways, took in Devon's arrival and kept Tonio in sight all at once. Now she measured them both: Devon's blood, and Tonio's, against her klaive and her health. And her partner, Devon knew, somewhere behind them with a gun. Small wonder she smiled at them. 

Tonio spared Devon a glance, and his eyes went a little harder as he saw the blood. She mimed a gun with thumb and forefinger, shrugged, rolled her eyes back toward the bar. Nod. Tonio shook his arm experimentally; flecks of blood spattered the floor and gleamed there, shining with each strobe flash. His mouth tightened. _Not our finest hour_. His gaze slid to Gillian, back to Devon. _Now_. She nodded and feinted sharply, catching the ghoul's eye. 

In that moment, Tonio leapt at Gillian, closing the distance between them impossibly fast. She was good; she did not commit to Devon's feint, beyond a simple warning cut at her. Gillian spun, and the klaive flashed at Tonio, driving him back, and she spun again to catch Devon's rush - very, very fast, was Gillian. Devon whipped aside, the klaive slicing air where her belly had been, and was gratified to see Tonio slip in to score a single touch on the other's shoulder -- just a fingertip, really. 

Gillian collapsed as if struck by a tree. She had exactly one moment to look shocked before Devon was on her, all her weight and attention on the klaive-wielding arm. Gillian's free hand made a fist and came crashing at Devon's head, connecting solidly. Devon let her head rock with the blow, and absorbed it. Her hands were locked now around the other's slim little wrist, and she squeezed and twisted. _Crack_.

Gillian's cry was lost, but the strobe-flash caught her expression. Devon had a moment to savor the pain and surprise before Tonio leaned across her, his weight warm and heavy on her back, and plucked the klaive from Gillian's suddenly useless fingers.

This time Devon heard the gunshot. Blood spattered against Devon's bare shoulder, and Tonio slid off her. The crowd melted away from him like startled sheep, and he went to both knees. Somehow he still held the klaive in white knuckles. His eyes found Devon, wide and dark and shocked. 

Clarity, then: battle focus. The world became unnaturally still, and slow, and precise. Devon hauled Gillian up, one hand squeezing the other woman's shattered wrist, the other having found its way into her throat. She turned toward the source of the shot, pushing the choking Gillian in front of her, and searched the crowds until she saw the one man _not_ milling or retreating, the one coming right for her, the gun leveling again. She watched Michael's finger twitch, his arm jerk; saw the bright muzzle flash and _lifted_; felt the dull impact as the bullet struck Gillian. Devon felt the throat in her fingers swelling, growing, as Gillian forced herself into Glabro to absorb the damage.

It was then that Tonio reappeared beside her, bigger and not so beautiful now. Devon saw a flash of teeth, heard something faint and obscene and Spanish, as he jammed the klaive to its hilt in Gillian's chest. She died without so much as a squeak, eyes wide with anger and shock at the last. 

That left the gunman, dangerously close to them now, and drawing another bead. Tonio wrenched the klaive free, let the weight of the dead Garou slide off the blade and fall wetly to the floor. If the sight bothered Michael, he did not show it. He leveled the barrel at Tonio's head and fired once, twice, before Devon cannoned into him and brought them both crashing to the floor. The gun skidded away on the concrete, making quantum jumps between strobes, until it vanished under human feet.

Devon had a moment to devote herself to crushing Michael's windpipe, and tried not to think about Tonio and whether he'd been quick enough, or whether he'd taken a pair of bullets in his skull. The Garou beneath her writhed, growing bigger, his throat pushing against her hands -- 

-- and growing greater yet. Her grip broke, fingers forced apart. She lurched upright as Michael did, lunging for her. And then Tonio was beside her again, klaive flashing across a belly, and Michael doubled over the wound. Devon dropped, remembered her own injury only as her ribs smacked into the cold concrete, hissed for breath as her sweep continued on. Her shin caught Michael's heels, wedged between them and the blood-slick floor, and Devon heaved and sent him crashing down. She did not see Tonio move again from her vantage point on the floor, but there was no mistaking the bubbling sound: someone's throat filling with blood. The space around them was weirdly, crazily empty, the human audience having melted away. 

She'd regained her feet when Tonio reached her. They stared at each other for a breath or two, evaluating: his face was a half-mask of gore, his hair matted. At least one bullet had struck, then. It took her a moment to realize his mouth was moving, and to make sense of the words.

" -- all right?" He still held the klaive in one hand; the other had her arm down near her wrist. Where Michael had grabbed her, she thought crazily, and almost laughed. 

"Fine," she shouted back at him, and then, "Joachim!" 

He nodded, eyes going hard again, and he turned and started across the floor, keeping his hand hard around her wrist. She ran beside him, twisted her own hand up to hold onto him, as they caught up with the stragglers in the human exodus. They sliced through the crowd, one leading, then the other, always keeping each other in tow. Progress was slow and chancy: the panicked people grew fewer as they passed on, the crowds growing more dense again, unaware of the chaos just yards away. 

Now Tonio worked his way through the human sea more slowly, taking great care not to bleed on people. Devon let him pull her along, and scanned between strobe flashes: catwalks, the railings lined with watchers. The bouncers had to be on their way. So did the cops. Still, she did not see any particular signs of panic up there. Maybe people dead of knives and guns were normal in this place. Maybe no one cared. She bumped against Tonio as he came to a sudden stop.

This was a different sort of crowd: this lot had all attention focused on the billiard tables, with the same expression an audience might have worn at a Roman coliseum. She strained up on her toes, using Tonio's shoulder for balance, and looked. 

Joachim had a half broken cue stick in each hand, and blood on one bare arm; he kept his hips pressed up against a billiard table, limiting the angle of approach. Both of the men stalking him had marks on them; and both were still human-looking, one with a broken bottle, one with a knife. They were still too far back to hear anything but the music's industrial grind, but Devon could see Joachim's mouth move, and see the audience on the nearest edges laughing. 

Tonio's mouth brushed her ear. "See any more trouble?" 

"Nothing yet." Something cracked loudly behind Tonio's shoulder, sounding like wood on skull. People cheered. "_He_ seems fine." She reached past Tonio's face, touched the matted hair in gentle inquiry. 

Ghost of a grin. "Flesh wound, already closed. Circle around to the left and get with Joachim. I'll get the lights. Be ready to step when I do." 

Quick nod, and she began to work her way among the watchers. Humans. Show them a fight...still, it was more convenient to keep them distracted. _Thank you, Joachim, for being so entertaining._

Devon reached a stopping place, the edgemost billiard table behind Joachim, and swung herself onto it. Voices behind her demanded she get down so they might see; she ignored them. He heard the racket, half turned his head to catch her in his peripheral vision. 

She dropped to a crouch, crabbed along toward him. "They took the bait. - Watch out."

"Bait?" He narrowly missed the broken bottle sweeping at his head, ducked and jumped back with surprising grace. Now he _really_ looked at her, and his eyes narrowed: Joachim would not miss the blood, black clothing or not. 

"Well, shit, and here I thought these were _real_ assholes." He grunted as one of the ghouls darted in at him again, and he took the hit somewhere in his gut. Someone shrieked in the audience. 

Devon hooked one hand in Joachim's belt, dug a small plastic square from her waistband with the other. A spiderwebbed mirror, streaked with gore, flashed in the glare of the billiard table lamps. _C'mon, Tonio._ She concentrated on her reflection, on focussing past herself, and tried not to lose her grip on Joachim as they came at him again, in tandem now, the rules changing. The ghouls had been made, and they knew it. Joachim's back muscles bunched and heaved against her knuckles as he bought them time. _Hurry up, Tonio._

The billiard lights went pitch black. Flash: there were still strobes, and that was enough. She had a clear image in the glass. Flash, dark. Flash -- and she pulled herself and Joachim _sideways_.

He did not miss a beat. "Where the _hell_ is Tonio?" Joachim reached for her. "And what happened to you?"

She tucked the mirror back into her waistband. "Tonio got the lights. -- I'm gunshot. I think it's closed up. -- Tonio's taken a klaive cut and at least two bullets, maybe three."

"Then he better get his ass over here and let me look at him." He batted her hand aside, peeled up the tank, probed with careful fingers. "Christ, that's a lot of blood." 

"It's _fine._" Beside them a pair of shapes were materializing. "We're about to have company. We got two others already, over by the bar." 

"Shit." He tugged her tank back down, satisfied she would live. 

Devon shook herself, drawing on the remains of her rage, and assumed her own Crinos shape. If they wanted a fight over here, Gaia help them. "You should go get Tonio. I don't know if he has a mirror left anymore." 

Joachim looked between her and the pair, almost solid now. "You're fucking nuts, you think I'm leaving you." 

Calmly: "Hurry. I'm going to need help." 

"_Shit._" 

And then the Garou were across, and she jumped at them.

-----

Coming out of a Frenzy was always the worst. Her head cleared, the last of the red haze retreating. Her body twinged into awareness around her, a hell of aches and worse - something was terribly, terribly wrong with one leg. She reached for it, found arms already around her, propping her upright. Joachim caught her hands gently. "Devon? Try not to move, okay?" 

She kept her eyes on his face, trying to gauge her injuries. The skin on Joachim's face looked stretched, tight. No, that couldn't be a good sign. "Left leg hurts like a motherfucker. Where's Tonio?" 

"He's all right." Joachim swore under his breath. "_Damn_ it."

She peered down at the wound, said breathlessly: "Anatomy lesson." Or not. Did the lesson count, if the skin was rows of ribbons, if the blood surged out in time to her heartbeat? Her head hurt, and she closed her eyes to keep them from leaping out of her head. Her ears felt full of wasps and cotton. 

"_Son_ of a bitch. Devon, you okay?" Tonio appeared in front of her, between blinks, Crinos, bloody, pissed off. 

She stared down a dark tunnel at him. "I'll live." _If my head does not explode_. "Did you get them?" 

"One of them." He made a face. "Sons of bitches had you down. I just got finished with the one. Don't know where the other went. I'm surprised to be standing." 

"Back across." Joachim spread his hands over her leg, and something warm traded places with the a portion of the pain. "Fox Frenzy."

"Back into the club? In Crinos? With all those people?" Devon tried to get up, and couldn't; Joachim wasn't even exerting himself. Damn Frenzy, anyway, making her into a damned cub; damn Garou claws that had turned her leg to pulp. Tonio began his slide back to homid, his features grim and distorted. 

"I gotta go. It's just Laurel and Bill over there." Tonio glanced at her leg, then up at Joachim. Their gaze met, somewhere over her head. Then Tonio nodded once, sharply, and reached out a hand. Joachim dropped a tiny hand mirror into it. 

Her heart lurched. "No. Not alone." Devon twisted, stuck an elbow in Joachim until he looked down at her. "You go with him. Leave me here. Come back when you're done." 

"You're gonna bleed out." Joachim wouldn't meet her eyes. "Gotta get this stopped before I take you anywhere."

"Devon, I'll be fine." Tonio even managed a smile. He stopped short of saying something unforgivable to Joachim, but Devon saw the looks they traded. _Spare me saviours, please._ She wanted to hit them both, and settled for touching Tonio's arm once, just as he crossed. 

Joachim had no time for sentiment, or perhaps he did not want to watch her stare after her partner: he had strips of his t-shirt already torn, began to wrap them painfully tight around her thigh. "This is nasty," he said unnecessarily. "It's gonna take me days to fix this up." Anything, apparently, but meet her eyes. 

It made her angrier. "Damn you, Joachim, if he dies," she began hotly, and bit off a scream as he did something to her, a savage knotting of bandages. 

Joachim did look at her now, anger making his eyes darker than usual. And hurt, oh yes, exposed on his face. She thought he might shout at her, to make them both focus somewhere else, but he didn't. A part of her regretted that she had not been kinder, but there was no room for pity, not now.

"Don't you dare let him die over there." Her eyes felt dry and hot. "Please." She hoped she did not sound as desperate as she felt, as close to panic.

The anger faded suddenly; he looked terribly weary. "You think I want to?"

Something yawned inside her, threatened to swallow. She was abruptly cold, and far beyond panic. "Then let me _see_." She wriggled in his arms, trying to reach her mirror. 

That he understood, though he looked as raw as she had ever seen him. Joachim plucked the mirror from her waistband with careful fingers, held it for them both. She dug her fingers into his wrists to hold herself steady, and peered through the crazy haze of the Veil.

A Crinos werewolf fled toward the stairs, through hysterical humanity - paused only long enough to swat at someone so, so much smaller attacking its retreating flank. Somehow, Tonio got out of the way; but now he had its attention, such as came with Frenzy. Only when the it turned, snarling, and started for him did she see two smaller shapes behind it on the stairs. And saw one of those shapes lift something slowly, carefully, and point. 

Devon didn't hear _that_ gunshot either. But she saw the muzzle flash clearly enough, and the bright cap of blood that replaced most of the top of the Garou's skull. And she saw when it collapsed, laying its bulk against those stairs, and when it shriveled back into a human shape missing much of its head, at Laurel's feet. 

----

The second time Nikos met Devon Renaud, she was not alone. She'd warned him that much, on the phone. He was not surprised, then, to see the men with her. He _was_ surprised, however, to see her leaning heavily on the large dark one, while the sleek Latino cleared a path through careless diners and random chairs. He noted the odd bulging round one thigh, and the stiffness with which she held that limb. Ah, the moonbeast pride.

He rose when they reached the table, owing them that much respect. "Miss Renaud." That she was in pain was obvious; still more apparent that she did not want her pain acknowledged. Her eyes, when Nikos met them, were cold and proud, for all the lines of strain around them.

"Nikos." Her head jerked. "Tonio, Joachim, this is Nikos. Nikos, Tonio and Joachim." She lowered herself carefully into a chair, muscles tight in slim white arms.

"Nice to finally meet you." The one called Joachim offered him a hand. Nikos took it, and suffered through the predictably powerful grasp. _Yes, yes, moonbeast. I know you can bend me in two._ He exerted a little pressure of his own. _But you won't do it easily._ The bigger man grinned approvingly at him, and dropped casually into a chair. Tonio merely nodded, and kept his hands to himself, and coiled into his seat warily.

"We have dealt with the ghouls," Devon said with no preamble. 

__

Dealt with. Nikos had been there, had _seen_ that crazed monster at the end - and the bodies, after, small and forlorn on the concrete. And these three, here, with only one bearing any sign of battle. No, moonbeasts terrified him, even now. They wore human skin, but they were no more human that Isa was. 

Devon spread her fine pale hands flat on the table; he felt her eyes searching his face. "Where is Brody? If he was with his team, we never saw him."

__

As we intended. Nikos quirked an eyebrow at her. "He was there. He fled. He won't get far." Was already ashes, actually. Isa wasn't one to linger over executions.

Devon exchanged a long look with Tonio, a quicker one with Joachim. "It's a vampire matter then, now, is it?" 

Nikos knew what a desire for revenge looked like, unfulfilled. He saw that in the three pairs of eyes gazing back at him. He stared steadily into Devon's wintry grey eyes. "It is." 

She stared at him for a long, long moment, until he was sure she could see the sweat on his forehead. "Then we have nothing further to say to each other, do we? The disaster is averted." An eyebrow twitched, humor or temper, he could not say. "The good guys won." 

Tonio looked like he wanted to say something, and didn't; Joachim grinned broadly, which might have meant anything at all. Nikos decided they were all dangerous and mad, and in that, typically Garou. He also knew a dismissal when he heard one. "That, we did." He stood slowly, was annoyed to see Joachim smirk at him from behind Devon. "Thank you, Devon - all of you. We will owe you."

She looked up at him, wearing a strange half-smile. "Be well, Nikos. Let us hope we never meet again, debt or no."

What he had expected to hear, frankly. He bowed, turned, and walked away, his back prickling the entire way. 


End file.
